Give wings unto the storm, and spurs to steed,
            I'd move unchained as wind across the world,
    Sweep onward like a torrent mountain-hurled,
            Nor sea, nor height, nor valley pause to heed.
    The twilight spreads a dimness o'er our speed,
            And shows the diamond-stars from hoofs up-whirled,
    Since daylight now her curtained blue has juried,
            And mystery and magic shadows breed.

    The earth sleeps, but not I--not I--not I--
            Who hasten to the shore where waves are loud
    And toward me in the darkness whitely crowd.
            Beneath them I would still my soul's deep cry--
    Like ships the whirlpools seize to drag to death--
            I'd plunge within the silence, sans thought, breath.

More information on Adam Bernard Mickiewicz

Translated by:  Edna Worthley Underwood